


An Unexpected Treat

by Nanaea



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Het Relationship, Challenge Response, Chocolate Syrup, Explicit Language, F/M, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Canon Compliant, One-Sided Relationship, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Omniscient, Secret Relationship, Sex and Chocolate, Unhealthy Relationships, Yet Another Halloween Fic (BtVS)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 16:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanaea/pseuds/Nanaea
Summary: Halloween - the one night of the year that the Slayer has off, and where is she? At the cemetery of course!





	An Unexpected Treat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Madapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madapple/gifts).



> This story was written for [Madapple's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madapple) 2008 Halloween Challenge over on the Evocative Fics and Forums Network. Yes, it really took me 10 years to write this. *sigh* 
> 
> *Must take place on Halloween  
> *Must include the words "Trick-or-Treat"  
> *Must mention a Jack-O'-lantern or pumpkin
> 
> Beta'd by [echtrae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/echtrae) who was as surprised as I am that the smut is so tame.

Spike watched her from a distance, silently stalking her as she wandered through the graveyard. He loved the way she moved. The slight sway of her hips that sent her petticoat and skirt swaying as she walked was almost hypnotic. In his previous life, it might have inspired him to pen some insipid, blathering rhyme, but the only thing that it inspired now was his burgeoning lust.  
  
He closed in, knowing it was only a matter of moments before her well-honed senses detected his approach. When she turned on him he was ready for her, ducking under the shepherd's crook as it sailed through the air where his head had been only a split second earlier.  
  
"What's the matter, Peep? Lose your sheep?" he asked, popping back up. Outside he was raking his gaze over her from head to toe, sizing her up like the wolf he fancied himself to be. Inside he was cursing the unintentional rhyme.  
  
"Spike." She made an exasperated sigh of his name, planting her crook in the soft earth. "What do you want?" All that was missing from the indignant pose was a hand on her hip.  
  
"You know what I want, Slayer." His tongue curled over his upper teeth in a predatory grin.   
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Why do I even bother?"  
  
"You tell me." When Buffy just stared at him, he continued. "Why are you here on the one night of the year that all the monsters take off?"  
  
"I'm trick-or-treating."  
  
"In a graveyard?"  
  
"It's a short-cut."  
  
"Where's your candy?"  
  
"Fine. Maybe I was bored, all right? Did you ever think of that? Or-or maybe I just like taking moonlit strolls through the cemetery." She raised her brows imperiously, as if daring him to disagree.  
  
Spike couldn't resist her challenge. "Or maybe...you came here because you missed me."  
  
"Please," Buffy snorted. "Nothing could be further–"  
  
He took a step closer and reached out to brush his knuckles over the silky smoothness of her cheek, cutting off her denial in mid-sentence as a shiver passed through her. "You can deny it all you want, luv, but I know better."  
  
"Spike, please...." she breathed, not daring to look him in the eyes.  
  
He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Do you want a trick or a treat tonight?"  
  
For a moment, he didn't think she was going to answer him. Then she said, "Treat. Definitely a treat."   
  
She smiled up at him as he pulled her closer, his mouth descending to cover hers. The tension melted from her body and a soft sigh escaped her lips. He could feel her heart pounding beneath her breast – not with fear, but desire. She could lie to herself all she wanted, but he knew where she lived and it was here with him, in the dark, surrounded by death. It made him want her all the more. The monster inside him wanted to bend her over the nearest headstone, yank her pantaloons down and push her skirts up – take her right then and there – but he pulled away. At her disappointed look, he said, "Not here, pet. Your treat's back at the crypt."  
  
~*~  
  
Spike practically dragged her all the way there. Dozens of candles flickered in the sudden rush of air as they entered. Rivers of molten wax dripped like blood down their sides. In the midst of them sat a grinning jack-o-lantern, flames dancing in its eyes.  
  
"You carved a pumpkin for me?" Buffy asked, confused. When he shook his head, a wave of relief swept through her. "Good, 'cause that would just be...weird." She couldn't repress a shudder, and Spike chuckled at her apparent horror over the idea. "So, when do I get my treat?"  
  
"Patience, luv," he chided. "Need to get it out of the fridge first." Spike walked over to the small refrigerator he kept in the back corner of the room and pulled it open. Reaching past the bags of blood, he took a dark brown bottle out and then shut the door.  
  
"Chocolate syrup? That's my treat? Spike, you...." Buffy fell quiet as Spike made it clear with a single, smoldering glance what he had in mind. He turned and made for the hidden staircase that led to the lower level of the crypt, but she just stood there staring after him in stunned silence.  
  
As he headed down, he shot her a wicked grin. "You coming?"  
  
 _Not yet_. Buffy shook off her stupor and followed him down into his private lair. There were more candles burning everywhere, lending a soft glow to the chamber. The bottle of syrup was sitting on the night stand next to his bed and Spike was unbuttoning his shirt. The sight of his pale flesh was enough to make her lick her lips in anticipation.   
  
He stripped, settled himself on the bed, then picked up the syrup and held it out to her. "Well, Slayer?"  
  
"Chocolate coated vampire." Buffy smiled and took the bottle from him. "My favorite."  
  
Buffy let her gaze travel the length of Spike's lean, hard body from his bleached blond locks to the tips of his toes and back again. He was lounging among the rumpled bedding, the blood-red satin making his pallid flesh appear even paler, but there was an eager tension to his limbs that contradicted the casual pose – like a predator about to strike. It was enough to make her mouth water.  
  
Her gaze settled on his chest and a smirk twisted her lips as a particularly wicked idea formed in her mind. With a flick of her thumb, she popped the bottle open. Then she used the thick chocolate syrup to draw a heart on Spike's chest. He arched a brow at her, but said nothing – blue eyes watching intently as she put an 'x' through it then growing wide when she suddenly produced a stake from her pinafore and had the sharpened tip pressed against the center of the mark before he even had time to blink.  
  
"Buffy?" Spike glanced at the stake and then back at her face obviously trying to gauge how serious she was. "Luv...."  
  
"I should have staked you when you first showed up at the Bronze and told me that you were going to kill me," she said. "I should have staked you a hundred times over by now."  
  
"If you had," Spike said, pushing himself upright, heedless of the stake biting into his flesh. "We wouldn't be _here_." He reached out to twirl a golden lock of hair around his index finger.  
  
"Exactly," Buffy whispered a second before he captured her mouth in a bruising kiss. The stake slipped from her fingers and clattered against the stone floor, forgotten as fire seared along her nerves. What was it about the cold touch of his lips that made her burn? Made her forget that Spike was a soulless monster? Why did this dead... _thing_...make her feel so alive?  
  
~*~  
  
Spike dragged her down onto the bed with him, his fingers untying the bow that held her pinafore in place before tackling the zipper at the back of her dress. Her mouth was hot and hungry, devouring his lips, his chin ... jaw ... earlobe. Her tongue left a wet trail along his neck as she licked and sucked her way down to his chest, where she lapped at the smeared syrup.  
  
It was enough to drive even a dead man crazy with desire.  
  
When every last trace of chocolate was gone, Buffy sat up. The dress slipped off her shoulders and down her arms, exposing the perfect curves of her breasts to his ravenous gaze. Spike grabbed the bottle from where it had landed on the bed and proceeded to drizzle the sticky-sweet syrup across her chest, licking his lips in anticipation.  
  
The gasp she made when he latched onto her nipple and started sucking only fueled his hunger. The way she ground against him, the heat of her own desire seeping through the damp pantaloons, was simply torment.  
  
“God, Spike....” Buffy panted as he licked each rivulet, each minuscule drip, from her warm, creamy flesh.   
  
“Like that do you, pet?” he chuckled. He shouldn't have said anything. He especially shouldn't have given her that cocky grin.   
  
Buffy shoved him back against the bed and snatched up the bottle. Without a word, she shifted off to one side, pulled the dress off and tossed it onto the floor. Then she was pouring more syrup on him. Spike watched, rapt, as her head dipped towards his lap. Then his eyes rolled back and all he could see were the fireworks exploding behind his skull while she did amazingly obscene things to him with her lips and teeth and tongue.   
  
He could hear the sounds she was making – small, soft sounds that let him know she was thoroughly enjoying her treat. It only made what she was doing with her mouth that much more tantalizing. His hands itched to be fisted in those golden tresses, to keep her moving, keep her doing exactly what she was doing. Only faster. But Spike knew better. He dug them into the sheets instead, balled them up and squeezed until the fabric threatened to rip.  
  
She brought him right to the edge and then stopped. "There...." Buffy smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "All squeaky clean now."   
  
“Buffy,” he made a plea of her name, begging her to finish what she had started.  
  
"Sorry. Chocolate's all gone."  
  
~*~  
  
The look on Spike's face was priceless. Unfortunately, she only got to enjoy it for a split second before he flipped her onto her back. Much to her embarrassment, Buffy let out a very un-Slayer like squeal.  
  
“Oh, you are going to pay for that, missy,” he said, then yanked her pantaloons off.  
  
“Promises, promises.”   
  
Buffy gasped. Spike's fingers were cold, and his tongue.... God, his tongue. Buffy was willing to bet that he had spent the better part of the past one hundred or so years perfecting his technique. And what a perfect technique it was. He had her back arching, her toes curling, and her hands fisting into the covers faster than she could say trick-or-treat. Not that she had the breath to speak. All that was coming out of her mouth were whimpers and sighs.  
  
She was close, so very close, when he pulled away. She felt like screaming, but didn't want to give him the satisfaction. She felt like driving a stake through his heart, but it was out of reach. And, if she was really honest with herself, she knew that she couldn't kill him. Not now. Not when they were...whatever it was they were. Friends? No. Certainly not that. Allies, perhaps, but not friends. Lovers? Buffy wasn't even sure if that word could apply to their twisted, dysfunctional mockery of a relationship. Whatever it was, though, it was intense. Almost too intense.  
  
“Spike,” she whispered. And in that whisper was everything she wanted to say, but couldn't. Buffy saw how he reacted to her plea. It sent a tremor through him. Closed his eyes. Made his breath come out in a ragged sigh. It gave her a sense of control over him, however fleeting.  
  
His eyes opened again and she could see the monster staring out at her. “Beg for it, Slayer.”  
  
Everything that made her what she was rebelled against Spike's command. Her eyes narrowed and her body stiffened. Then his fingers ghosted over the most sensitive portions of her anatomy, portions he knew quite intimately, and suddenly she was willing to beg, to plead, to welcome his fangs piercing her throat and sucking away her will to live if that was what it took to convince him to keep touching her like that and to not stop until she begged him for mercy.  
  
“Fuck me, Spike,” Buffy implored. “Please. I need you inside me.”  
  
~*~  
  
Her words made him ache for her all the more. He would have to be dead – as in dust – to ignore such a request, but she wasn't ready yet. He pressed a little harder with his thumb. Shoved his fingers a little deeper, hitting the spot that made her eyes roll back and her muscles quiver with anticipation.  
  
"Come for me first," he said. It only took a slight movement of his wrist to set her writhing against the blood red satin of his bed. He watched the first flush of pleasure bloom across her chest and creep up her throat; felt the spasms of ecstasy that coursed through her, bowing her back and stealing her breath.   
  
She gasped his name. Pleaded. Begged.  
  
He might be a monster, but he was still man enough to relish the soft moan that escaped her lips when he finally gave in to his own need and buried himself deep inside her slick heat. He paused, savoring the feel of being gripped tight by muscles honed to Slayer perfection. Buffy gazed up at him. It would be so easy to lose himself in the depths of those green eyes, the soft, floral scent of her hair, the tempting pulse of blood flowing just below the surface of her neck. Time seemed to stop. The silence between them was filled with possibility. Then she wiggled, impatient, and the moment was gone.  
  
She didn't love him. He knew that, but there were times when he could almost believe that she felt something for him. Something more than lust. It was a familiar game. If he had any self-respect left, he would walk away. Leave her pining for the feel of his flesh pounding into hers. But he couldn't quit her. Nothing new there. He was used to being Love's bitch. So he gave her what she needed, satisfied that he could make her beg even if he couldn't make her love him.  
  
~*~  
  
She was soaring. Her numb body filled with sensation. All from the touch of a dead man. It was ironic, really, that Spike could make her feel so _alive_. And other...feelings. Not love. No. She had loved Angel. This wasn't the same, but it was something. She just couldn't figure out what to call it. Not when Spike was doing that thing he did. The thing that made her toes curl. The thing that made her forget that he was a soulless vampire. That she was the Slayer. Forget everything. Everyone. Until all that was left was the feel of his cold flesh filling the void inside her, driving away the darkness.  
  
If she were smart she would gather up what was left of her dignity, along with her clothes, and leave. Never look back. But she went down that path before and she knew that she couldn't stay away. She craved his touch like a drug. Without it, she went back to feeling dead inside. Lost. Alone. She trembled – not from the pleasure riding her body, but from the hollow feeling deep inside her soul. That burning cold abyss that could only be filled by Spike's hunger. His passion. His love.  
  
Because he did love her. She knew he did. And even though she tried to ignore it, it was always there lurking just below the surface of his actions. He tried to pretend that it didn't matter, but she knew better. There were times when Buffy felt guilty, when she wished that she could love him in return. It made her wonder; if Spike could love her, even without a soul, then who was the real monster?  
  
~*~  
  
He had stopped moving several seconds ago and she hadn't even noticed. "I must be losing my touch," he grumbled.  
  
"Huh?" Buffy blinked and her gaze refocused.  
  
"Right then," Spike sighed. He would just have to try harder. After all, what use was he if he couldn't even keep her demons at bay for a few hours? Exactly none. And he wasn't about to risk losing what little he had of her. Good thing he didn't get to be as old as he was without learning a trick or two. "Time to make you forget your own name."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. You're not that–" whatever she was about to say got cut off by a low, throaty moan as he put one of those tricks to good use.   
  
' _Now that's more like it_ ,' Spike thought, his lips curving into a self-satisfied smirk. "You were saying?"  
  
"Was I?" she gasped.  
  
"I'm sorry. What did you say your name was again, luv?"  
  
The indignant look on her face was priceless. "Spike!"   
  
"No," he spoke as if to a particularly slow child. "That's my name."   
  
Buffy slapped at his chest, clearly unamused, but her annoyance was short lived and soon she was arching beneath him. Her cries of pleasure were sweet music to his ears. He would sell his soul, if he still had one, just to be able to tear that sound from her throat every night for the rest of his unlife.   
  
Once Spike had thought that nothing could top the rush of killing a Slayer, but it paled in comparison to the satisfaction he got from making Buffy come undone. She was vulnerable in a way that no Slayer before her had ever been. Naked. Trembling. The blood singing through her veins in time with the rhythm of his body. That she trusted him not to sink his fangs into the slender column of her neck and drain her dry was as incredible as it was frightening.  
  
Because he wanted to.  
  
The temptation was so strong that his lips were caressing her neck before he even realized what he was doing. His tongue traced the thick artery that ran just below the surface of her flesh, feeling the strong pulse of blood rushing through it, and Buffy shuddered. Not in fear or revulsion. No. He knew her better than that. She wanted it just as much as he did. And, God, how he wanted to taste her. It would be so easy. Too easy. Which is why he couldn’t do it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. A taste wouldn’t be enough. He would imbibe until he was drunk on her blood and Buffy was limp in his arms. He would kill her and then he would have to turn her and she would hate him for the rest of eternity. Spike would never forgive himself if that happened. Ever. So he fought the desire to give into the demon inside of him even as he fought against his inevitable release.  
  
~*~  
  
Buffy felt his lips on her neck, his tongue teasing her pulse, but it was just another drop of pleasure in the ocean of bliss he was drowning her in. Besides, she wasn’t afraid of dying. She had already done that. Twice. No, what really scared her was living. The mundane, pointless emptiness of it. That’s what drove her into Spike’s cold embrace. Not some death wish. She just wanted to feel something–anything–even if it hurt.  
  
But it didn’t hurt. It felt good. So good that Buffy had lost track of how many times Spike had brought her to the peak of ecstasy. And for those bright, shimmering moments she was in heaven again. Free. At the same time the strain of her muscles, the sweat dampening her skin, the pounding of her heart grounded her in her body. Reminding her what it was to be truly alive. To feel. Even if it was wrong.  
  
And it was wrong.  
  
Wrong that a soulless demon could send her to paradise. Wrong that the touch of a dead man could make her feel so alive. Wrong that Spike could love her when she couldn’t love him. Everything about this was wrong because she had come back wrong.  
  
~*~  
  
Spike collapsed, groaning her name into the silken strands of her hair as he lost his battle for control. Not that it mattered. He had lost her again. One second she was clawing at his shoulders and gasping his name, and the next...she might as well have been dead for all the response he got out of her.  
  
He rolled off to one side, propping himself up on his elbow so that he could study her. Buffy wouldn’t meet his gaze. Ashamed of what they had done, no doubt. Never mind the fact that it wasn’t the first time. No, that time they had wrecked an entire house. Brought it down around them with the violence of their coupling. Spike felt a tremor go through him at the memory of that night. No, it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last – not if he had any say in the matter.  
  
“I—I should go….” She sat up, taking the sheet with her like he had never seen her naked before. Never seen those pert breasts with their rosy tipped nipples or the perfect curve of her arse.  
  
“No,” he said, reaching out to loosen a strand of hair from where it was stuck to her cheek. “You should stay.” Buffy shivered, but still wouldn’t look at him. He knew she didn’t want to leave. Not really. She didn’t want to be alone tonight anymore than he did. Why else would she have come to the cemetery, knowing that he would be there waiting?  
  
He could make her stay. Slide his hand up the inside of her quivering thigh and remind her why she came to him–for him–over and over again. But he wanted her to stay because she chose to for once, not because he forced her to forget everything except the passion that burned between them.  
  
~*~  
  
“I can’t stay,” Buffy said. “I have to…. Dawn! I should find Dawn. Go home. It’s late….” Tara had taken Dawn out trick-or-treating. Buffy knew that. Knew her sister was safe. But it was as good an excuse as any.   
  
“Best get a move on then. Can’t have the Nibblet out roaming the streets alone on Halloween. Might eat too much candy and make herself sick.”   
  
Buffy looked at Spike, her brow furrowed. She had expected him to argue. To tempt her with his cold flesh. His burning touch. Not agree with her. He was supposed to coax. Coerce. Compel her to stay. Not let her go. Not now. Not when she needed…what _did_ she need? Not Spike. Not his lust. His strain. No. It had to be something else. And if she could just figure out what it was, then maybe she could get it somewhere else. End this once and for all. “Right.” Buffy nodded. “Okay.”  
  
She climbed out of the bed, taking the sheet with her, and picked her costume up off the floor. There was chocolate smeared on the bodice. Maybe it would come out in the wash? Otherwise she was losing her deposit. Again.  
  
~*~  
  
Spike watched her gather her clothing, waiting for the sheet to drop so he could feast his hungry gaze on her naked flesh one last time before she walked out. Perhaps for the last time. The possibility was always there in the back of his mind. That he would lose her. Forever.  
  
Buffy scowled at him. “Could you not?”  
  
“What?” Spike asked, pretending he had no clue what she was on about. That he wasn’t watching her like a half-starved wolf watches a plump rabbit.   
  
“Just turn around, or close your eyes, or…something,” she said.  
  
He scoffed at her sudden modesty. “Like I haven’t seen all your bits before.”  
  
“God, Spike! Just….” Buffy made a frustrated noise. “Please?”  
  
“Sorry, luv. Not gonna happen.” He wasn’t going to coddle her. Wasn’t going to give her the luxury of turning away just so she wouldn’t feel vulnerable. Exposed. No, he was going to look his fill and she was gonna see exactly what the sight of her did to him. See how hard it made him. How weak.   
  
“Fine,” she huffed at him. “Whatever.” Buffy dropped the sheet and glared at him. Strong. Defiant. God, how he loved that about her. “Happy?” she demanded.  
  
He gave her the only answer he could: “No.”  
  
~*~   
  
Buffy let her gaze roam down his torso, past his hips, and then back up. “Funny, you look happy.” But his eyes told a different story. One that sent a pang of guilt slicing through her.  
  
“I’d have to be dust not to get hard at the sight of you naked.” She expected him to say more. The unspoken ‘but’ at the end of his sentence hanging heavy in the air between them. But he didn’t give it voice and the seconds stretched out into an eternity before he finally broke the silence. “Go on then. Get dressed. Leave. Run away from what you’re feeling just like you always do.”  
  
“I’m not—I don’t run away from my feelings.”  
  
“Yeah, luv. You do.” Spike sighed.  
  
Was he right? Was she running from him the same way that she ran to him whenever the pain of living became too much for her to bear? She was the Slayer. She had never run from anything. Ever. Least of all Spike.  
  
~*~  
  
Buffy lifted her chin and climbed back into his bed, her motions stiff and tense. Spike arched his brow at her. “What are you doing?”  
  
“This is me not running away.”  
  
“Go home, Buffy.”   
  
“Jesus, Spike, make up your mind,” she all but yelled at him. “First you want me to stay and now you don’t.”  
  
“I always want you to stay. You know that.” Spike sighed. Not like it was a secret. At least he admitted it. Unlike Buffy. “But not like this. Stay because you _want_ to. Because the thought of going back to your empty bed leaves you cold inside. Not because you feel like you have something to prove.”  
  
“I do,” she whispered.  
  
“You do what?” he asked, exasperation creeping into his tone.  
  
“Want to.”  
  
~*~  
  
Spike couldn’t have looked more shocked if she had suddenly burst into song. Truth be told, Buffy was shocked too. Not by the fact that she wanted to stay. She wasn’t so deep into denial that she could fool herself. No. What surprised her was that she had admitted it. Out loud. To Spike.   
  
“Come again, luv?” He was still staring at her like she had sprouted a second head.  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. “You heard me.”  
  
“Humor me,” he said.  
  
Buffy shook her head. “Why should I?”  
  
“Because, I want to hear you say it,” Spike said. “Tell me that you want to stay–here–with me. Say it, Slayer.” The note of desperation in his voice made it sound more like a plea than a command.  
  
She considered refusing, but what was the point? She had already said it once. Sort of. What harm could it do to say it again? “I want to stay–here–with you,” Buffy said, echoing his words. Her words. Her confession. It felt like a weight being lifted from her that she hadn’t even known she was carrying. She felt lighter. Almost giddy with relief. It made her smile, the first real smile she could remember feeling since coming back.  
  
~*~  
  
There she was. The woman he loved. The Slayer. Fighting the demons, even when they were her own. Fighting, and winning. It was enough to warm the cockles of his cold, still heart. Not to mention other parts of his anatomy.   
  
Best not to think of that, though. Not until later, anyway. Because there would be a later. And maybe even a future.  
  
Now there was a frightening thought.  
  


_*fin*_

**Author's Note:**

> NB: Chocolate coated vampires were a recurring theme over on EFFN when I began writing this story.
> 
> Yes, I know that this story doesn't fit into the timeline of their relationship as established by the tv series. I make no apologies for this fact.
> 
> I do not own the characters/world appearing within. I do this purely for my own enjoyment and the occasional comment love. I make no money from it, claim no rights to it, and have a mortal fear of lawyers.


End file.
